


Marble

by NotATorontonian (TheLifeAndLiesOfFerns)



Category: Life with Derek
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambition, Child Neglect, Cold, Depression, Divorce, F/M, Family Drama, Romance, Starting Over, Wealth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25261438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLifeAndLiesOfFerns/pseuds/NotATorontonian
Summary: They were in love, they were made perfectly for each other. Reconciliation always loomed close. Yet, he was still left behind, alone.
Relationships: Casey McDonald/Derek Venturi, Casey McDonald/Sam Richards
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	Marble

The house was silent for the first time in six years.

This realization was not accompanied by the relief he always suspected he might feel. Instead, it was more neutral.

On his good days he greeted the silence with acceptance. In his darker moods it felt more akin to resignation.

Derek frowned, dragging the tips of his fingers across the marble countertops. They were immaculate. No day-old cereal spilled by the children in their carelessness. Not splattered with one of Casey's failed culinary experiments. They were clean. They were cold.

He plucked the leftovers from last night’s dinner from the fridge, as he was still adapting to buying food for one, and turned on the news. The content did not interest him. It just broke the monotony of silence.

He closed his eyes. He listened to the timbre of a stranger’s voice, a new girl, not yet comfortable being on air. He heard the delicate quaver when she spoke, too nasal. It was too calm.

Evenings in their home were chaotic. The children clamouring for his attention, speaking at once, leaving him with a migraine. Casey attempting to coax him into sharing a meal with his family.

Sometimes she succeeded. He was not too proud to admit he was an absent father. He felt no shame in the fact. Casey had wanted the children. They were hers to look after.

Still, she had complained. Always nagging him after they were safely tucked away in bed, staring at him with hurt, accusative eyes. He could make an effort. He could spare one evening for them, or ask about their days, or…

Derek massaged his temple. The news was not cutting it. Casey’s voice still haunted him.

* * *

When Derek was a little boy, he failed first grade. He wished he could say it was ridiculous, that he did not know what on Earth he could have done to fail, but he knew exactly why.

He was an absolute pest.

Not in the sense every little boy is, but rather a nuisance, a disturbance to class, defying authority at every turn. He did not think he handed a single assignment that year.

His frazzled teacher had said, when his mother furiously went down to the school to question it, that he was a very intelligent boy, but was too lazy, too distracted, to apply himself academically.

Derek scoffed, he knew they said that to every stupid kid on the lot, and did not really believed it.

When they got home, his father shouted for three hours, before declaring that he would be grounded throughout the Summer. Not that he had much going for him, his school friends snubbed him hard after he failed, and with Edwin being so young, the family would not be travelling.

A season of boredom later, and it was his first day in first grade again. Sitting right in front of him was a little girl, with dark hair in pigtails and bright blue eyes, excitedly talking with Emily, his neighbours’ child.

The teacher, then, walked into the room, and placed them in a circle to introduce themselves to the class. Then, he found out her name, Casey, and that she moved recently from Toronto with her mother and baby sister.

Suddenly, he was taken with the need to have her attention, instead.

In the beginning, he went about it by terrorising her life. She did not give her time of day, glazed eyes of derision looked through his antics with little on the way of recognition. That would not do for him.

Six months into the school year, and his mother noticed what was going on with him and convinced him that besting her was a good way to make Casey notice him. He was unconvinced, but tried her idea anyways.

It turns out that Abby was on to something, as Casey, even as a first grader, was a fiercely competitive girl. From second grade on, Derek’s name seemed to always be on her mouth, in that sweet, broken fashion that their peers enjoyed poking fun at.

Moreover, Derek found he enjoyed being the best. He enjoyed being the first on class rankings, he enjoyed winning hockey games, he enjoyed being the most handsome, the most liked. He relished in being adored, in the spotlight of his own making.

He wanted to be _perfect_.

In turn, being knocked down so often had proven to Casey that being second place would not make the world tilt on its axis, that it was okay to fail even when you try your best. Therefore, by high school, while still a respectable student, she was clearly the most easy-going and tranquil of her peers.

By the time they graduated, Derek had been accepted to Desautels Faculty of Management of McGill University, and was secretly pleased to know Casey would be going just across campus to the Conservatoire de Musique et Art Dramatique du Québec, studying Classic Theatre.

His unwavering ten-year persistence finally seemed to bear fruit, as Casey was much more receptive of his company in Montréal than she ever was in London, and by sophomore year, they were dating steadily.

Aside from a quick break, while he interned for a bank in Tokyo and she was studying in Saint Petersburg, they stayed together throughout college, and one year after graduation, he proposed. Two years later, their first child, Lucas, was born, and a year after that it was Skylar’s turn.

They were happy in the beginning, Derek was sure. He proposed to Casey convicted they would be happy together, and he made everything in his power to make it true.

He is particularly fond of a memory he had of teaching Lucas how to swim at Felicia’s Lodge, Casey’s grandparents’ lake residence. His son on his arms, flailing, dedicated on learning, his daughter building a sand castle on the shore, and his wife, sunbathing and observing them with loving eyes. He knew he was happy and content back in the day.

Then, he just was not anymore.

* * *

The reality of the situation was only just settling in.

It had been a month since Casey took the children. Every moment remained burned into his mind, played on loop when he was left alone with his thoughts. He had let her go. He had been amused by her petty little tantrum.

A tantrum it had been. They had fought the night before. It had been over something so stupidly trivial he could not even recall the particulars. The last six month of their marriage had proved a lesson in tedium. Her company was exhausting. Casey was desperate to fight. Every minor infraction, every evening he had come home late.

He had asked her about it in one of their rare honest moments. His wife laughed, drunk on the wine. A cheap bottle, no doubt selected solely to vex him. It was thin, tasting more of vinegar than anything else. It was suited to their evening.

Casey smiled. She was curled against his chest, dragging the tips of her fingers along the rim of her glass. Even as their marriage careened towards the gutter, they had retained their physicality. It had always been easier than conversation. Her free hand settled on his thigh.

Her voice was coloured by a delicate slur, struggling to make the words clear. “Why do I want to fight?”

He nodded.

Her hair was draped across his chest, scented with honey and jasmine. It was a heady combination, too strong. It mixed with the alcohol in his blood and made it impossible to focus. “It’s the only time we talk anymore, isn’t it?”

He did not have a reply at the time. He still did not.

* * *

Did they ever talk? Derek could not remember.

Certainly not as much as Casey would want. She was all about feelings and discussions and _talking_ , he could not stand it. She was so insecure, distrustful, always doubting what anyone would tell her, and it was exhausting trying to assure her, so he stopped trying.

His wife was an actress. Always hoping for the next round of applause. Always after acknowledgement, after undivided attention. It was tragic that she always reached for such a meagre source.

He was not prone to romantic eruptions, he was not one to declare his love or appreciation at random, much less to acts of folly like the heroes of her plays, being much more resembling of a villain, of the uncaring fiancé at a Regency trash novel.

In a way, he was a simple man. He was pragmatic and direct. If he married her, he believed, it was because he wanted to, and when he did not want it anymore, he would ask for a divorce.

Funny how she served him, instead. Shame Derek was not one to understand his own feelings, as well.

They did not talk. So, they fought.

* * *

They had kept fighting up to the very end. She would take the children, she had said, her face red, her hands curled into fists. As if she would strike him, as if she had the nerve.

He wished she would.

Somewhere along the line he had come to hate aspects of her character. Casey was a coward. She talked a big game about happiness and authenticity, but she was just a washed-up actress, grasping at concepts she did not understand nor had the moral fibre to go after. Instead, she was angry words and hurt feelings and empty threats.

 _Pathetic_.

Derek frowned, sipping his whiskey. It burned all the way down his throat.

Pathetic. He had called her pathetic. He had felt a savage glee in the moment. Casey blinked at him, stunned, stupid. The fight going out of her all at once. She had just stared down at her feet, lost, lips shut tight.

They had gone to bed without speaking. She had curled into his side, her back to his chest. She had dragged his arm over her waist as if the weight was a comfort. Neither of them slept.

They had sulked. Silent, poisonous. He had wanted to scream at her and turned his face into her throat instead.

The next morning, she had packed their bags. She had not looked at him, had not spoken. Just worked with a tireless efficiency, her shoulders squared, a hint of steel in her gaze. It had been a refreshing change to the simpering she did for years.

Even as she packed, he did not believe her. He had not believed her. He still did not.

* * *

Leave Casey did, with two children and heavy luggage in tow. She did not utter a single word to him, did not tell him where she was going, just fiercely pretended he did not exist. Lucas looked confused, torn between comforting his mother and confronting his father, but seemed to decide his mum was more important.

Skylar was the one to stop in front of him. His daughter was not the type to cry or lament, she was all about direct action and brashness, too much like himself for comfort.

Yet, her eyes were shiny with tears when she turned, curling her hand around his fingers.

She was too young to understand the particulars of the situation. Children understood feeling. They understood emotion. Even at four his daughter was more cognizant than him. Things were changing. She was going away.

He remembered kneeling in front of her, smoothing his thumb along the high line of her cheek. The trace remnants of baby fat clung to her face. She was growing, however, sometimes faster than he would have liked. A fine bone structure was already starting to take shape.

Skylar would be a beautiful young woman. Eventually. _Just like her mother_.

“Your mother is playing a game, honey.” Derek spoke softly, watching his wife move in the front yard. She was struggling with their suitcases, shoving them into the back of their Escalade. Skylar turned into his touch, holding his hand to her face. “Play with her, make her happy.”

“Dad…”

He had chuckled, standing without a second comment. Skylar clutched his hand. He watched Casey go about her frivolous little display. The satisfaction never waned, even as Casey announced they were leaving.

He had watched them back out the driveway and gone to pour himself a tumbler of expensive whiskey.

* * *

Derek growled.

Casey had filed for divorce the week after. The papers were still sitting on his desk. Unsigned, unread, unopened. If he ignored the situation it would never gain permanence. There was a voice in the back of his head whispering to him that this would all go away. Casey was still playing her game, acting out her tantrum. One day soon, maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, she would come to her senses. She would come crawling back to him, children in tow, and apologize for what she had done.

Their house would feel like a home again, not a mausoleum.

Her voice would no longer haunt him.

The silence would fade.

He clung to that truth. It was the only one that mattered anymore.

* * *

After their separation, Casey moved from their large house in Rosedale back into her mother’s house in London.

Derek never got along with his in-laws. Nora thought he was much too like her late husband, a lawyer who supposedly died from overworking shortly before they moved to his hometown. Lizzie, in turn, had all the flaws of Casey’s, and none of the endearments. Unsurprisingly, she followed on her older sister’s footsteps and married a Singaporean banker, from whom she was divorced as well.

The three women would be living together again, it seemed, alongside Lucas and Skylar. He wondered briefly how they were adapting.

Not very well, he believed. His kids were spoiled and used to a life Casey could not provide on her own, despite the alimony checks he sent. Not to mention, the prospect of a crowded house sounded hellish to him. When he heard she was moving to London, he would have offered his childhood house for them to live, but he sold it and gave Edwin the money when he married.

He did not have much on the way of a family, in actuality. His father divorced his mother shortly after his little sister was born, and promptly moved to Prince Edward Island. He sent Christmas and birthday cards for a time, and then they stopped. Casey would often ask if he wanted to go after him. He refused.

When it came time for his mother to retire, Derek made sure to place her at a nice community in the British Columbia. She would call once a month, and an awkward conversation would ensue. His brother was a schoolteacher at a public school in Kitchener, he was married and had a baby boy, to whom he would have Casey send gifts two times a year. As for his sister, she went to art school for a while, but dropped out on her third term to join a hippie community in South America.

He thinks they liked Casey. His mother still asks about her, even if he had told her they were separated five times before giving up. Casey certainly liked them, for all her insistence for him attending family barbeques at his brother’s house, taking their children when he refused.

* * *

Casey has the courtesy to tell him she is seeing someone else. She offers him a soft smile in apology, a hint of colour flooding her cheeks.

The answering swell of jealousy is unsuited for a man of his station.

Derek grunts in reply, jerking the bag out of her hand. He ushers the children inside without so much as a second glance back at her.

Rude. He was being rude.

He does not care.

The truth is this all feels like a dream, surreal. Casey wins full custody of their children, the court barely even has to consider this ruling, but she refuses to cut their father out of their lives.

Two weekends a month is more than enough for Derek’s tastes, anyways.

They still talk. These past few months it has been almost pleasant. More like the start of their marriage than the end.

He had never truly accepted their divorce. Casey is made for him. He is made for her. They are separate halves of a larger whole. They will be together in the end. Reconciliation always seems to loom on the horizon.

However, she smiles and says she is seeing someone.

He bites the inside of his cheek and tastes blood.

* * *

Her “someone” is a cop, out of all things.

Samuel. His name is Samuel. Sam, for the acquainted. His record with the force is exemplary. Numerous superior officers praise the strength of his character and his way with people. His grades in high school were only decent, better in college.

He is, in all accounts, a woefully average candidate.

A widower who, like Casey, has only just moved to his hometown with his two young children. Their colleague from all the way back high school.

Derek pours over the file. It was well after midnight and he is on his third cup of coffee. The first trace of a migraine manifested over an hour ago. Sleeps continues to elude him.

Yet, despite the averageness, the sad aspect of dating a high school sweetheart, the fact of his salary would not cover a tenth of the luxuries she was accustomed to, Casey has taken interest in him.

He does not understand. It is an illogical choice and he liked to think that Casey is nothing if not reasonable.

* * *

“Where did you meet him?” Derek speaks in a low growl, the fingers of his right hand curling into the counter, the left into the mug of his coffee cup. Every muscle in his back and shoulders are stiff.

Casey is brighter than he has seen her in months. He suspects that is half the reason she invites him in for coffee. There is a hint of cologne, masculine, hanging on the air of her mother’s house.

They have had company over recently.

She brushes her hair away from her face, smiling softly. “He was one of the responders after the car accident a few months back.”

“You were in an accident?”

It is the first he has heard of it and it infuriates him that she has been hiding details of her life.

He forces the anger down. No, that is not fair. She is not obligated to tell him those things. They are not together, not yet, anyways.

Casey must recognize the shift in his demeanour. She reaches out, fingers curling over his wrist, “It wasn’t a bad one, Derek. I wasn’t even driving. Emily…”

“Ah.”

She laughs. Her ex-husband really dislikes her best friend. He found her vapid and lascivious.

“Don’t be like that, it wasn’t her fault. Anyway. Sam arrived on the scene. He was... Impressed that I’d managed to keep Emily from killing the other driver.” She smiles again.

He remembers that look.

She had saved it for their better dates, their honeymoon. The rare times they had been truly happy. Derek turns his hand over beneath her. She does not pull away.

“He’s sweet.” She assessed, taking a sip of her beverage. “A little bumbling. I mentioned I had children and we arranged for the kids to meet. I guess it developed from there.”

“How charming.”

When she speaks her voice is softer, her brow pinching. “It’s a lot to ask but couldn’t you pretend to feel happy for me?” It is an impossibility to ask and they both know it. She squeezes his wrist. “I want you to find someone, Derek. I really do. You need someone in your life…”

He cuts her off, brusque. “I don’t want anyone else.”

The _but you_ is left unsaid.

She does not respond. Casey shakes her head and pulls her hand away.

* * *

This is a passing phase.

A temporary indulgence, a rebound, whatever the hell else you wanted to call it. She will tire of her average man and she remember everything it is she has lost. What only he can provide.

When that moment arrives, Derek will be waiting. He will be magnanimous, of course. He will forgive her.

Yet, a year passes and still nothing.

* * *

They are moving in together.

Samuel does not want to rush her. Her divorce is still fresh in the rear-view mirror and he is still coping with the loss of his wife. He is very considerate like that and Derek feels nauseous.

The children relay this information to him. Lucas is ecstatic. Skylar is more reserved.

He takes his daughter aside one evening and asks her what she thinks of the man. If nothing else, Skylar still supports him, still wishes for her parents to get back together, but her brow pinches, her lips thinning to a fine line. She crosses her arms over her chest.

“Speak your mind, my dear. I just want to know.” He encourages in the best way he can manage.

He does not like her silence, though. He has never stopped to consider the possibility that the blue-collar could steal his daughter away too. Skylar has always been loyal. Skylar would never betray him.

Yet, she is still quiet, staring off into the distance. “He’s an idiot, dad. He’s always talking and he has too many _feelings_ …” He feels a rush of pride, redemption. Skylar is still talking, her voice quieter. “But… He’s...nice.”

“Nice?” The one word is clipped, so sharp that she jerks back to awareness.

“I don’t know. Luca likes him. Mom likes him.”

“Do you, Skylar?”

He knows the answer before she speaks. The swell of rage is more intense than anything he has felt these past few years. It is a betrayal of the highest order. Skylar ducks her head, her words soft: “I guess so.”

* * *

Samuel comes with her to drop off the children. He hates the other man at first glance.

Where Derek is tall, lithe, this man barely stands taller than his ex-wife. His face is open, blessed with an idiot’s grin. Only his eyes, a rarely pale shade of blue, are remarkable. Derek is superior in every way.

The blue-collar man waves at him. There is no judgement on his face, no jealousy. He opens the children’s door first and then Casey’s.

She smiles at him, bright and open, mumbling her thanks. The nausea returns. Derek is left digging his nails into his palm, fighting to keep his expression neutral. She loops one arm loosely about her lover’s waist, tucking her hand in his back pocket. He mirrors the gesture.

_How sweet._

“Derek, this is…”

He cuts her off, painting on the closest approximation of a smile. It’s nearer to a snarl, his lips curling back over too many teeth. “Yes. I’m aware who he is.”

Samuel is unphased by his rudeness. The man steps forward, extending one hand to him, “Does not mean we cannot have a proper introduction now, does it, Chief? Name’s Sam.”

Lucas lollops back out onto the porch, tugging at his father’s hand. “He’s real nice, dad.”

“I’m certain.” He acknowledges his son briefly before facing his ex-wife. “You’ll be back for the children Monday morning?”

Casey’s expression falls. She nods, glancing over at her lover. It would be simple to miss the following gesture. Derek does not.

The man clutches her more tightly to his side, squeezing once. Reassuring her. As if she needs the comfort, as if she is not strong enough to stand on her own.

“Yes. We’ll, uh...” She stutters. “Yes. Monday.”

“Good.”

He ushers Lucas back inside.

* * *

Casey lingers in the kitchen with him. Their children are playing in the yard. Soon she’ll take them away. Return to her second family. Her _partner_.

He glowers, swallowing a gulp of his coffee. The taste is acrid, nearly burnt. Things are still relatively easy between them. He is more comfortable standing here with Casey in absolute silence then he is with anyone else in the world.

He’s speaking before he can stop himself, “Why him?”

His wife hums, one brow arching.

Derek presses on, aware that he’s growling, pouting. “This cop? Your...blue-collar proletarian.”

She laughs, setting her empty mug on the counter. “Proletarian?”

“I’m not wrong.” He defended, haughtily. “He is inferior in every way. You deserve better.”

Calling Sam a proletarian was rather rich coming from Derek of all people. His father had been a bail lawyer and his mother retired as a lab assistant. Him and his wife’s boyfriend grew up on the same street. Despite all the riches he accumulated in life, nothing would change the fact he was birthed as working class. He knew she was thinking it, but refrained from saying.

“Derek…” She elected to say instead, still smiling. Casey shifts, bringing one hand up. She hesitates only briefly before bringing it to rest over his heart. “Did you ever stop and think that after you, after us, average was exactly what I needed?”

He is left to stare at her.

Casey grabs her purse. She leans in and presses a kiss to his jaw. “I’ll see you next week.”

* * *

Her words linger long after she has departed.

Once, in the early days of their marriage, after the honeymoon had ended, she had said something similar. She had had too much wine, laughing wildly even if her eyes were shiny with tears. Being with him was exhausting.

“You’re a fucking storm, you know that?” She had giggled into her hand, unsteady as she tried to brace against the kitchen counter. “When you’re up there’s nothing more beautiful in the entire world. It’s just... Everything else…”

Derek is a perfectionist. He is clever and charismatic. That drive has pushed him to excel at everything he sets his mind to; he is efficient and ruthless and unparalleled.

And mercurial. His highs are very high. He remembers sweeping into their first home, a small one bedroom near his office, and catching his wife up for a kiss. He had closed with his first client, the first of his nascent investment firm, in spite of his young age, inexperience and lack of a strong name. He remembers making love to her and laughing, light.

It is the dark days he has a tendency to blot out. His depressions. His frustrations. His narrow mindedness and his tendencies to lash out.

He remembers Casey, her smile wobbling, stroking her fingers across his cheek. “You ever stop and think this should be easier?”

He did not have an answer for her.

Left to himself, to the silence, he still cannot find the words.

“You are perfect, Derek. Like a marble statue at a palazzo in Florence.” She had said, bumbling her words with profound emotion. “So, so beautiful, and yet so hard to love.”

* * *

Casey has the courtesy to tell him she is remarrying.

“Your blue-collar boy?”

She smiles at him. It is soft and familiar. It is everything he remembers from the highest points of their relationship. Something twinges in his chest. A nostalgia he would prefer to remain forgotten.

Casey nods. “Yes, Derek. My blue-collar boy. He’s a good man. He’s good for the children…”

“And you?”

Her tongue flicks out over the seam of her lips. There is a delicately choked quality to her words. “Yes. For me too.”

He nods. A part of him wants to fight. To rail against her, to blame her; it is her fault. She left him; she caused all of this. He never wanted to separate.

He is not able to find the necessary outrage, though. He just feels tired.

Surprise registers across her face when he finally speaks.

He reaches out, curling one hand over her hip. “I did not anticipate this.”

Casey nods. She looks away, only briefly. When she glances back at him, he can see the tears in her eyes. She is strangely beautiful in such moments. Always brighter, the aquamarine colour of her eyes seeming to glow. “I know. I didn’t either.” She swallows, wrapping her arms around him. “I love you. You know that?”

“Yes.”

He wants to kiss her. In that moment, that one moment, he thinks she would allow it. They are standing in the eye of one of his storms, a temporary reprieve before the emotions rage back to the surface. The air is thick with nostalgia. Their good and their bad experiences all bleeding into one perfect whole. He has held her like this a thousand times over the past decade.

Derek is selfish. He recognizes this about himself. He is shallow and he is incomplete without this woman.

It is his one selfless act to push her away. His voice is flat. “Leave.”

She is hurt. “Derek…”

“Go, Casey.”

If she stays, they will both regret it. On some level she must understand that.

Casey nods. She stares at the floor and searches for the right words. Ever diplomatic, his wife. She cannot find them, however. She smiles, miserable, tight. She steps into him, pressing her lips to the corner of his mouth. “Alright. I... I’ll call you? Okay?”

He nods. He does not expect her to call and she does not.

* * *

Casey marries her blue-collar boy. Lucas and Skylar speak of the occasion only stiltedly, recognizing it is a sore topic. It is a small ceremony at the courthouse. They say she looks beautiful.

They will live a good life, mundane as it is. She is happy. The children are happy.

And Derek is left alone.


End file.
